


If You Didn't Know, You're The Only Thing That's On My Mind

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, Santana wakes up panting for air, her shirt pulled up over her stomach muscles and the covers kicked back down to the end of the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Didn't Know, You're The Only Thing That's On My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 1x13 "Sectionals"

She dreams about Sectionals some nights;  
of confessions, brunettes, smiles, sweaty palms,  
and the words  _I believe you_.

The first time it happens, Santana wakes up panting for air, her shirt pulled up over her stomach muscles and the covers kicked down to the end of the bed.

She blames it on eating dairy when she knows she’s not supposed to without taking her Lactaid first.

Taking a deep breath, she rolls over and presses her face into the cool part of the pillow and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, wiping away the sweat on the back of her neck with her loose sheet.

“ _Berry_ ,” she hisses through her clenched teeth, stealing a glance at the clock.

It’s 3:30am and she has to be up in less than three hours to be at early morning Cheerios practice and Rachel Berry is keeping her awake.

She reaches for her nightstand with one hand and finds her iPod, her other hand reaching down and grabbing her comforter. Santana pushes her red earbuds in, turns the volume down and hits ‘shuffle’, laying back down and closing her eyes, praying for something slow to lull her back to sleep.

When “Don’t Rain On My Parade” starts playing – Rachel’s version, that Artie managed to snag from the AT guy at the competition – Santana doesn’t have the energy to appreciate the irony, or change the song, so she pulls the earbuds back out, tosses the device across the room and tries to count sheep instead.

\---

The next night, she dreams of kicking Puck, right between the legs where it would  _really_  hurt, and she sleeps much better.

\---

“Santana, I-”

Santana lifts a hand and an eyebrow at the same time and Rachel’s mouth snaps shut.

“Don’t talk to me,” Santana all but growls.

Rachel’s head bobs up and down slowly, as if she understands, but then she goes to open her mouth again so Santana steps closer, eyes darting down the hall quickly, before she leans in close.

“Don’t talk,” she says quietly, softly.

She turns on her heels, skirt swishing around her, and doesn’t give Rachel a chance to say anything else, because everything Rachel says sounds like “ _I believe you_.”

\---

It happens again, though.

_She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay, look,” she all but hisses, moving around the back of the couch._

_Everyone looks up at her: Quinn is staring indifferently; Kurt and Mercedes are glaring something awful; Tina and Artie make eye contact, but quickly look away; Puck stares at her evenly; Matt and Mike seem confused; and Rachel is the only one waiting expectantly for Santana to prove Glee wrong._

_“Believe what you want, but no one’s forcing me to be here,” she admits, already regretting the words as they slip past her lips. And if you ever tell anyone this,” she says, a pointed look at Quinn, “I’ll deny it – but I like being in Glee Club.”_

_She takes a deep, steadying breath and says, “It’s the best part of my day, okay?” She pulls her arms tighter against her chest, as if she’s holding them in instead of confessing it to the only kids lower on the totem pole than the AV club. “I wasn’t gonna mess it up,” she says, softer._

_Her body sags into the seat with the admission. She hears a soft scuffle on her left and sees Rachel’s foot kicking against the floor before the Streisand wanna-be lifts her head and gives her a soft, reassuring smile._

_“I believe you.”_

Santana opens her eyes slowly, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling and she sighs.

She didn’t even have ice cream before bed this time.

\---

Santana feels eyes on the back of her neck and when the weight of someone else’s stare becomes too much, she turns and the glare on her face slides into a thin line.

“What?” she asks wearily, because Rachel is draining her emotionally, even if the shorter girl isn’t aware of it.

Rachel blinks a few times, as though she’s unsure if this is a trick or not, but regains her composure and smiles brightly at Santana. “You’re not yelling at me.”

Santana doesn’t react to the surprise.

“I mean,” Rachel continues hurriedly, “I just wanted to say good morning.”

She nods once and turns back to the front of the classroom, staring at the board but not really paying attention to the teacher droning on.

With ten minutes left in class, she looks over her shoulder, catches Rachel’s eye and mutters a quiet “ _good morning_ ” back.

The shock on Rachel’s face almost makes her laugh out loud, but Santana bites down on her bottom lip instead, and faces forward again.

It’s suddenly easier to pay attention to fractions and angles.

\---

“So,” Santana says slowly, unsure if anyone is going to suddenly burst into the band room. She doesn’t think anyone will; they have a whole half hour before rehearsal even starts, and the only reason Santana isn’t down at the 7-11 with everyone else is because Coach  _knows_  if she even looks at a Slushie, let alone has one.

Rachel stops shuffling her papers and looks up cautiously. “So,” she repeats.

Santana frowns a little. “You believe me.”

It’s not a question, and Rachel doesn’t make a move to answer her.

“I mean, you said you believed me, right?”

Santana only asks because of the dreams and because there was something in Rachel’s small smile back in that room that Santana still can’t put her finger on. Santana only asks because she really can’t be up at all hours, wondering about  _Rachel Berry_.

“I still believe you,” Rachel corrects. “I believe that you honestly enjoy Glee. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

When Rachel’s cheeks flush a little, Santana has to curb her smirk. “I just mean,” she tries again, “ _why_?”

“Why do I believe you?”

Santana nods.

Rachel frowns this time, working her bottom lip between her teeth, and after an excruciatingly long minute, she puts her sheet music down in her lap and tilts her head to one side. “Why not?” She smiles when Santana frowns and gives the smallest laugh; Santana almost doesn’t hear it. “You haven’t intentionally hurt Glee. And I can see, when you sing, that you really enjoy it. Why would you lie about it?”

“I wouldn’t,” Santana says slowly.

Rachel’s smile brightens. “See? Underneath all your misplaced anger and your attitude and that uniform, you’re just someone like me: a girl who likes to sing.”

Santana feels something warm spread from her chest into her stomach.

“You don’t have my register,” Rachel continues, “or my vocal training, but I’m sure of you kept up your enthusiasm and-”

“Berry,” Santana says sharply, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

Rachel shifts in her seat, lifting her shoulders a little higher. “You’re very welcome.”

\---

Santana closes her eyes and breathes deeply, intent on a peaceful, Rachel Berry-free night of sleep.

_“I believe you,” Rachel says quietly._

_Santana looks around, but the rest of the team is hunched over the conference table in the back of the room, pointing while Mike demonstrates each move written down._

_Rachel is leaning against the wall in her black dress, the red ribbon around her waist a little tilted to one side._

_“What?”_

_Rachel smiles a little and steps closer, her hand reaching up to grasp the oversized color of Santana’s Cheerios jacket. “You really like Glee,” she says, instead of repeating herself._

_“Of course I do.”_

_“Because Quinn made you join,” Rachel continues._

_Santana shakes her head, her gazed locked on Rachel’s index finger, tracing the zipper from Santana’s neck down to the end of the fabric. “Because I want to be here,” she insists, suddenly realizing she means it._

_Rachel’s smile grows a little and Santana looks up quickly, only to find that she can’t look away and that Rachel has stepped closer. She swallows, dry and hard, but Rachel only smiles more and the hand resting against her heart slides down the arm of her jacket and lingers on the cuff for a moment before a small, tan hand is wriggling in between her fingers, tugging her forward._

_She feels Rachel’s feet under her own and wants to step back, because her weight is all forward, on the tops of Rachel’s toes, but before she can, Rachel is taking a step back, pulling Santana back with her._

_“Come on,” she says, her voice light and airy. “We’ve got to learn the steps.”_

She wakes up just as dream-her is being pulled across the room, and groans into her pillow.

Tomorrow, she’s going to make this stop.

Rachel Berry means  _nothing_.

Or, that’s what she’s going to tell herself, every day and every night, until this crazy, teenage-hormone induced  _thing_  is over and she can sleep again.


End file.
